


One of Seven

by Fyre



Series: Inverse Omens [8]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A reverse role AU continues, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: For many years, an angel and a demon kept an eye on humanity. Sometimes, they took a vested interest.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Inverse Omens [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1482338
Comments: 50
Kudos: 105





	One of Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Pride Month all!
> 
>  **Be aware** \- there is mention of period-accurate homophobia and implicit transphobia in there as well, but A & C are stalwart defenders of our people :)

**1975**

The procession marched onwards, banners unfurled and held aloft.

There were limits to what Crowley could do with the threat of Heaven perpetually auditing any excess miracles, but where he could, he calmed angry minds in the crowd, turning the thoughts in gentler, more considerate directions.

Sometimes, the subject of his attentions would stagger and fall, nose bleeding, and drop the rock they intended to throw at the marchers. Sometimes, they would look up to see a flame-haired creature with burning eyes, strange shadowed wings spreading around it. Those ones would often mend their ways. Frequently while crying for their mum.

They marched and – among the crowd – he followed.

People who were brave enough to be true to themselves deserved that much, even if his higher-ups didn’t seem to notice or care.

He’d always kept an eye open for them, the ones who had been forced into hiding, living secret lives, protecting them where he could. Whether he kicked up a very noisy human distraction to warn them to flee or touched the minds of juries or… just did _something_ to show some acceptance and kindness in a world where the laws were more and more restricted by misinterpretation of the Book.

It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.

___________________________

**1981**

“Afternoon, angel!”

Crowley trotted towards the junction where Aziraphale’s bookshop stood, but as soon as he saw him, his smile melted away. Aziraphale was dressing in his usual style, but with two prominent additions: a green carnation pinned to one lapel and on the other…

“What the hell are you wearing _that_ for?” he demanded, jabbing a finger at the pin.

Aziraphale blinked at him in confusion and peered down.

Of all the times for him to stick that on his person. Of all the symbols to wear on a day like this.

“The flag?”

“Flag?” Crowley echoed. “It’s a bloody _rainbow_.”

“Yes?” Aziraphale smoothed it with his thumb. “They’re giving them out to everyone in the neighbourhood.”

“…giving them out?”

“For the parade?” Aziraphale looked more and more nonplussed. “It’s their flag.”

Crowley wondered if someone had smacked him on the head with a 2-by-4. “Eh?”

“An American gentleman decided to design a symbol for the community.” The demon beamed. “I think it’s rather lovely: plucked from nature just as they all are themselves.” He raised his eyebrows. “But you don’t seem altogether happy about it?”

Crowley stared at the pin.

He’d always hated rainbows, ever since the first. Ever since he had to stand and watch the rains fall, the waters rise, the people fall away and then, there it was. Wahoo! I won’t kill all the people again! Have this pretty reminder that I love you!

He took a step closer, reaching out to touch it.

“The humans chose this?”

Aziraphale nodded. “The young lady handing them out was very excited to explain,” he said. “All the colours have meaning.” He reached up and unpinned it, holding it out to the angel. “I saw people waving cloth flags as well. Hand-stitched. Your sort of thing, isn’t it?”

Crowley picked up the pin, running his thumb across it. “Yeah,” he murmured. Humans taking what little they were given and turning it into something better. Taking plain things and giving them colour. Taking a symbol – a reminder – of Her fickleness and making it a sign of unity and strength.

“Can I–” he began.

The demon smiled, closing Crowley’s hand around it. “It’s all yours, my dear.” He touched the carnation at his other lapel. “I shall embrace a somewhat more vintage symbol.” A bittersweet smile crossed his face. “I think he would have appreciated it.”

“He?”

“Oh…” Aziraphale shook his head, a strange, sad look crossing his face. “An acquaintance of mine. He passed quite some time ago.”

Crowley ducked his head, hastily pinning the little flag to his t-shirt. Aziraphale had plenty of acquaintances and sometimes, it felt a bit awkward asking about them, because it was impossible to gauge whether the reaction would be positive or negative.

“We should probably split when we get to the route,” he said, once the pin was safely attached.

“Probably,” Aziraphale agreed. “Can’t have our blessings and temptations overlapping now, can we?”

The angel gave him a look. “I thought we agreed this was a work-free situation.”

“Says the angel who encourages people to stop being nasty little buggers?”

Crowley sniffed. “There aren’t _any_ miracles involved there and no one can prove otherwise.”

Aziraphale just chuckled, shooing him up the road. “Your delusions are so delightful, my dear. I don’t know what I’d do without them.” His hand brushed Crowley’s back. “And darling…”

Crowley didn’t risk glancing back. He knew that softer tone in Aziraphale’s voice. He knew what it meant. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for coming along with me. I mean… insofar as we are coming along together.”

Crowley smiled. “They’re our people, Aziraphale,” he said gently. “Of course I’m coming.”

And he definitely didn’t look back to see the demon’s expressions, but he did hear the small startled, “Oh!” and felt the blush ride up the back of his neck.

_______________________________

**1986**

“I don’t really feel that’s appropriate.”

At the top of the ladder, Crowley turned and peered down at the woman standing on the gravel. Annie Jackson, mother of Nick, Ben and Millie. “Beg pardon?”

She glared at the piece of cloth in his hand. “ _That_. Do you really think it’s appropriate to wave something like that around with all the… goings on?”

Crowley gave her a long, slow stare. He was very good at them and he’d found that if he did them for long enough – especially when he didn’t blink – humans tended to get very uncomfortable and start squirming. It wasn’t that he looked like he was judging them. It was the fact he gave them time to judge themselves through his eyes.

“It’s inappropriate!” Annie Jackson burst out, hot spots of pink on her cheeks. “We don’t need the little ones knowing about the perverts.”

“It’s a piece of cloth,” Crowley murmured mildly. “What do you think it’s going to do to them?”

She glowered. “You know what I mean! By all means, let the foreign folk celebrate their…” She flapped a hand. “Their nonsense. Bit of culture never hurt anyone, but that’s– they’re– d’you think we want them thinking they’re welcome here? Them and their… disease.”

The world seemed for a moment to bright and too white and Crowley had to grip the edge of the ladder. He took a breath then carefully descended, making sure of where he set his feet. His heart was thundering in his ears and he gazed at her.

“Look at the sign above the door, Miss Jackson,” he said quietly.

She glanced sidelong at it, jaw twitching. “What about it?”

“It says everyone welcome,” he replied. “That doesn’t mean everyone Annie Jackson approves of. It means _everyone_.”

“You’ll let those perverts–” Her mouth kept moving but her words stopped.

In fact, then entire world went still and silent around them.

Crowley stepped closer to her, never taking his eyes from her face. “I’ve been around a long time, Annie,” he murmured. “I’ve seen a lot of things. I’ve seen times change more than you can imagine. There was a time when you would have been the one people warned me about. There was a time, a time even you remember, when your Ben would have been considered an abomination.”

He took her shoulders, gently now. They shivered under his hands.

“I don’t cast people out, especially not people who need help and are hurting and lost and have already been turned on by the people they love.” Her grey eyes stared back at him, pupils wide and dark. “I’m not condemning you, Annie. I would never do that, but I need you to understand that this place is safe. Safe for your children. Safe for the lost. Safe for the people who need it.”

He released her shoulders and stepped back. Around them, it seemed that the world released a held breath, the bubble of silence popping, engines roaring in the distance.

Annie Jackson shrank back. “I-I won’t bring the kids back here.”

“That’s your decision,” he said, “but like I said, this place is _safe_. No one will ever come to harm here. You’ve trusted me these last seven years. Doesn’t that count for something?”

She retreated away from him. “I’ll not have you corrupting my kids.”

He glanced up at the flag. “Does it scare you so much?”

She made a fretful sound and turn, walking quickly towards the gates.

And of all the terrible timing, collided straight into Aziraphale.

“Oh hello, my dear.” He offered her a cool smile. “A tad distracted, were you?”

Grey eyes shot a venomous look at Crowley and she fled out the gate.

Crowley groaned. “Well, that was just… perfect.”

“What on earth did you do to her?” Aziraphale inquired, trotting across the gravel. He glanced up a smile lighting his face at the flag hung over the door. “Oh! I see! A little bible-thumper come over all aflutter?”

Crowley snorted. “Hardly a religious type,” he said, “I’d almost convinced her that her kids wouldn’t run into any perverts here and then you showed up.”

Aziraphale made a shocked face. “I _beg_ your pardon! I am _not_ a pervert!”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Remind me exactly what you sell in your shop again?”

“Precisely!” Aziraphale huffed. “I cater to the perverts. I, myself, am a connoisseur.”

The angel snorted. “You’re an idiot, is what you are.” He nodded towards the chapter house. “Come on. I need a drink. If she’s one of the liberal ones, I dread to think what reaction I’m going to get from the other end of the spectrum.”

Aziraphale crunched along beside him. “Do you think she’ll take her children out?”

It was a tough call. Single mum with three under fifteen, she needed all the help she could get and the community centre had provided a place for her to leave the children when she was working during the summer months and after school.

“I hope not.” Crowley pushed the door of the chapter house open. “S’up to her, isn’t it?”

“I could… persuade her?” Aziraphale suggested. “Entice her into risking a little corruption.”

“Corruption? In my centre?”

“Well, she may convince herself that’s what it is, but _we_ know better.” Aziraphale whipped off his jacket and sprawled down onto the couch like a lazy cat. “Win-win for both sides. She thinks she’s doing bad, meanwhile you teach her children the virtues of kindness and open-mindedness.”

Crowley rooted around in the cupboard beside the fridge until he found the whisky he kept there for special occasions. “No.” He fetched a couple of tumblers and kicked off his shoes before climbing onto his usual perch on the arm of the couch. “I gave her a nudge. She has the information she needs. I’m not adding negative weight to her opinions.”

“Ugh,” Aziraphale grumbled. “The moral high ground.”

Crowley kicked his foot fondly. “Shush.” He balanced the glasses on his knees and poured them a measure each. “Here.”

Aziraphale took one of the tumblers and leaned back against the arm of the chair. “Why put it up, dear boy?” he inquired. “You know how inflammatory people will find it, especially with everything that’s happening to so many people with that _dreadful_ disease.”

Crowley sipped the scotch, shuddering pleasantly at the burn on his tongue. “Someone has to make it clear they’re not unwelcome.” He stretched out his legs, wiggling his toes against the cushion. “It’ll be the difference for someone to see it. To feel seen. Noticed. Accepted.” He gave the demon a crooked smile. “It’s amazing how much that helps, even if we can’t do more.”

“And if it angers people?”

“Depends on the people who get angry about some stripes of colour pinned on a wall,” Crowley said, serene as a monk. “S’only a rainbow.”

The demon gave him an amused look. “Darling, you are dangerously revolutionary sometimes.”

“Me?” Crowley made a face. “Nah. I just like bits of cloth pinned on my walls. I’m harmless, me.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “If you insist.”

_______________________

**1993**

The door opened with a rush of cold air.

“It would freeze the testicles off a brass monkey out there!” Aziraphale exclaimed, breezing in, wrapped in his winter overcoat, though he stopped dead in the doorway and Crowley held up a hand, praying he wouldn’t overreact to an unexpected small human. “Who the devil is this?”

Crowley gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “This is Jack.” He met Aziraphale’s eyes. “He’s having a bit of a rough week. I’m letting him stay here for a few days until things gets sorted out.”

“Jack,” Aziraphale echoed and Crowley could see the unspoken question in his eyes. After all, Jack was still in his school uniform, the shirt spotted and stained red, and the skirt torn. The demon strolled closer and held out a hand. “Lovely to meet you, young man.”

The sudden burst of happiness through the pain and grief and hurt made Crowley’s eyes sting.

“I’ll go and get the bathroom sorted for you,” he murmured, squeezing Jack’s shoulders. “I’ve got some clothes that’ll probably fit you as well.”

Aziraphale shot an amused look at him. “The bathroom, eh?”

Crowley glared at him in warning and hastily miracled a small bathhouse onto the back of the building, via his cupboard. Not much. Just a bath, sink and loo. Basic human things. Jack had been around the centre before, but most of the kids always avoided the chapter house, so hopefully, he wouldn’t notice. Apparently, it was considered a special treat to get anywhere near it and very few people broke the rules.

He hesitated, glancing back, and miracle the tub full of hot water. Made it easier than trying to connect up all the plumbing and everything and the poor kid was so wound up, he probably wouldn’t even notice that the taps didn’t work properly.

Through the door, he could hear them talking. Or at least, Aziraphale talking cheerfully.

“I really shouldn’t tell you this.” His stage-whisper was hardly convincing. “But the first time Crowley and I spent any time together, he fell asleep on me because he was absolutely plastered.”

Jack laughed weakly. “Mr Crowley?”

“Mm hm.” He could hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice. “He’d been going through a messy patch, you see, so I took it upon myself to look after him. Gave him a fine haircut, got him cleaned up and gave him something decent to eat.”

“A haircut?”

Aziraphale lowered his voice. “I don’t think he remembers that part,” he murmured. “He really was dreadfully tipsy.” Jack said something too quiet for Crowley to hear and Aziraphale chuckled. “Of course, my dear. I would be delighted.”

Crowley opened the bathroom door, leaning out. “Badmouthing me, are you?”

“Always, my dear!” Aziraphale widened his eyes innocently.

The angel grinned, rolling his eyes. “That’s the bath ready. I’ll dig out some clothes and pop them just inside the door for you, all right?”

Jack nodded, getting up. It made Crowley ache to see how much he winced. “Thank you, Mr. Crowley.”

“Just Crowley is fine,” he insisted, gently patting the boy’s back and letting as much of a miracle as he could spread through to ease the pains and soothe the wounds.

Sometimes – more often than not – he just wanted to rip up the rule book and do everything he could, but he remembered a flaming blade and so many centuries of nightmares and… and… and he was still a coward.

As soon as the door clicked shut, his shoulders sagged and he sighed.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I know we had dinner plans.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I know you, angel,” he said gently. “If you’d chosen to abandon him, I’d be more concerned.”

Crowley gave him a crooked smile. “It’ll be a takeaway, then,” he said, heading over to his drawers.

Aziraphale, perched on the couch, peered over at him. “What are you doing?”

“Getting him some clothes.”

“Can’t you just…” He made a flourish with one hand.

Crowley nodded. “For some of it, yes,” he said, “but I want to give him something extra.” He rooted around in his drawers and whipped out a yellow t-shirt with a picture of a plant and some text on it.

“Say Aloe to my little friend,” Aziraphale read. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Pop culture.” Crowley snapped his fingers and a neatly folded bundle of clothes appeared on the back of the couch. “Also, plant joke. Also, mine. I think he’ll appreciate having something with a bit of a personal touch.” He set the t-shirt on top, then trotted over to the former-cupboard door, tapping, then opening it a crack and sliding the pile of clothes in. “We’re getting Chinese in. What do you like?”

“Anything,” Jack replied, sounding so tired and wrung out. “Um. Something pork? Thank you.”

Crowley pulled the door shut with a click. “You know the best places for takeaways.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ll order now.” He paused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “And can you dig out some scissors for me? And a comb?”

“Eh?”

“Our young man wants me to give him a haircut.” Aziraphale offered him a small, cautious smile. “After all, I am… rather good at them.”

Warmth welled up in Crowley’s chest. “Yeah,” he agreed, sitting down on the arm of the couch and propping one foot precariously close to Aziraphale’s thigh. “You really are.”

_______________________________

**2004**

The champagne bottle thumped down on the table making Aziraphale jump.

“What’s this in aid of?” the demon inquired, as Crowley sat down opposite him.

“The vote went through,” Crowley said, grinning from ear to ear. “Another step forward, finally.”

Aziraphale blinked owlishly at him for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Oh! The… the legal partnership thing! Yes!” He beamed. “Oh, that’s marvellous news! About damned time! They’ve spent long enough clinging to outdated hysteria about it all.” He made a face. “Sin of Sodom, my arse. The real sins were those cocktails they used to make. Lemongrass, I think. Remarkable and strong enough to knock you flat. Never had their like again.”

Crowley wrestled the cork out of the bottle. It was early in the day for drinking, but it _was_ some good news, even if Aziraphale _had_ brought up those places. “Radical misinterpretations of the texts have a lot to answer for.”

A snap of the demon’s fingers produced a couple of champagne flutes. “Don’t they always?” One side of his mouth turned up. “For example, I happened to come across a rather nice translation of a Bible that mentioned a missing sword and a very flustered angel.”

The cork popped out as Crowley bit down on a profanity.

“What were _you_ doing with a Bible?” he demanded, blushing hotly as he poured the champagne.

“Oh, you know me, darling,” Aziraphale said innocently. “I have to arm myself with knowledge against the opposition.”

Crowley snorted. “You talk a load of bollocks some times.”

“Around a load of them too,” Aziraphale said with a wistful sigh. “Lord, I miss Portland Place.”

“Did you ever consider that you might be giving me too much information?” Crowley inquired reproachfully as he slid one of the champagne glasses across the table.

Wide blue eyes stared back at him. “Is this more than I usually give?”

That made the angel chuckle ruefully. “Fair point.” He settled back in his seat and picked up his own glass. “To the humans, eh?”

“Long may it continue,” Aziraphale agreed with a bright smile.

____________________________________

**2015**

Trying to teach a child raised and brought up in a diplomatic household came with its own set of challenges and especially with a set of particular prejudices that passed from parent to child whether latently or blatantly.

The rainbow pin on Crowley’s dungarees had kicked off a fiasco.

It hadn’t mattered so much when Warlock was small, but when he was big enough to notice it, he liked it and Crowley had been more than happy to give him it. The next morning, a burly Secret Service man demanded Crowley accompany him to Mrs Dowling’s study. The lady of the house had been waiting for him with a face like thunder.

He hadn’t had a dressing down like that since his latest encounters with Gabriel.

Still, at least Harriet Dowling was only human.

No repercussions beyond an urge to go and get himself completely plastered and hide out in the summer house for the afternoon.

Instead, he took refuge in the labyrinth of hedges, playing a recording of a hedge trimmer and sitting on one of the stone benches until his hands stopped shaking. Just a human. Shouldn’t bother him. But it was like turning over a rock and seeing everything that was wriggling about underneath, all the words that had been hurled at him time and time again.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there for when footsteps crunched on the gravel.

“Mr. Francis?”

Crowley exhaled a shivering breath. “In here,” he said, switching off his phone.

Aziraphale bustled through the openings in the hedge, a worried look on her face. “I thought you might need some company,” she said, plopping herself down beside him and patting his knee. “I heard that woman had bent your ear about something.”

Crowley nodded. “I gave Warlock my pin.”

“A pin?”

Crowley glanced at him. “My _rainbow_ pin.”

Aziraphale stared at him in astonishment, which was even more pronounced with the delicate make-up she’d taken to applying in her role as mild-mannered Nanny. “Why that virulent little harpie! And the hypocrisy of it! I have half a mind–”

“No,” Crowley said quietly. “Don’t.” He ran a hand over his face. “I should’ve known. They’re… weirdly puritanical about a lot of stuff.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Oh, not so much,” she said, folding her arms under her ample bosom. “That Thaddeus is more than happy to take a good look at the staff. If he wasn’t scared to death of me, I’m fairly sure I would be able to sue for misbehaviour.” She leaned closer, knocking Crowley’s elbow with her own. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “It’s stupid. I just– it doesn’t hurt anyone. It’s just a pin.”

“Implication is enough, I suspect,” Aziraphale murmured. “The fearful and hateful will always fear and hate.” She unfolded her arms and gave Crowley’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “Don’t you worry. I’ll find particular ways to undermine them. That’s what I’m here for, after all.”

“Aziraphale…”

“No, no.” Aziraphale got up, smoothing her skirt. “My mind is made up. I must thoroughly lead the Antichrist astray.”

The angel smiled crookedly. “Don’t get yourself in trouble.”

“Ha!” Aziraphale plumped her breasts. “If that happens, I just give dear Thaddeus a flash of these, and all will be well in the world.” She beamed at him. “I have some rather splendid lingerie for the purpose as well.”

“You’re a nightmare,” Crowley said with a rueful laugh.

“And proudly so,” Aziraphale bobbed into a curtsey. “Toodle-pip.”

And that was the end of the matter.

Or so Crowley mistakenly thought, for three days later, he heard the clatter of an enthusiastic seven year old racing down the steps from the house.

“Mr. Francis!” Warlock huffed to a stop beside him.

Crowley knelt up from the bed he was currently planting seedlings in. “Ah! Wee man! What can I do for you?”

Warlock glanced around, then pulled sheet of paper from behind his back and shoved it at Crowley. “It’s for you!”

“Me?” Crowley wiped his hands on his overalls and took the paper, a helpless smile spreading across his face. “Did Nanny Ashtoreth let you make this?”

Warlock nodded. “Since my mom took your rainbow, now you have a big one to keep in your house, because everyone should be able to have a rainbow.” He threw his arms around Crowley’s neck and hugged him. “Don’t tell my mom,” he whispered, then bolted off back up the grass, leaving Crowley gazing at the macaroni art and the rainbow of glitter all over it.

Sometimes, he thought fondly, Aziraphale was far too kind.

___________________________________

**2021**

For the first time in ages, Crowley woke alone.

A perfectly preserved and still-warm pastry and gently steaming coffee were waiting for him, but Aziraphale was nowhere to be seen. He never left the grounds without saying goodbye, so Crowley, rubbing sleep from his eyes, reached out.

Ah. In the garden.

Shuffling into an outsize pair of slippers and Aziraphale’s abandoned pyjama top, he meandered outside, breakfast in one hand, coffee in the other, and immediately stopped dead, eyebrows rising.

“Wassat?” he inquired around a mouthful of almond and pastry.

Aziraphale glanced up from the patchwork of cloth draped over the bonnet of the Bentley, partially attached to a long pole. “This? It’s my approximation of a flag.”

A particular flag made of particular colours, but the stripes were all patchworks of bits and scraps of cloth.

Crowley crunched closer, peering at it. “What’s it made from?”

The demon beamed at him and flipped the cloth, showing captions and images from dozens of old and honourably scrapped t-shirts. All pieces that had ended up as cleaning cloths and rags around the centre and somehow, Aziraphale had managed to steal pieces of every colour.

“I thought it was a better use for them,” he said, smoothing it out. “What do you think?”

With great care, he bent down and set his cup on the ground, then draped himself over his husband.

“Best husband,” he said with all the coherency he could manage for someone awake less than five minutes and lacking caffeine. Several sticky kisses later, he nuzzled Aziraphale’s cheek. “Wosit for?”

“Well…” Aziraphale’s arms settled around his waist. “I was rather thinking it was about time we actually attended the parade together, don’t you? I mean, we’ve scandalised Heaven and Hell quite thoroughly. No need to hide away anymore.”

“Yes.” Crowley leaned back to stare at him. “ _Yes_.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “I hope you would say that.” He tugged Crowley back towards the chapter house with him, stooping to retrieve the coffee cup, which he pressed into Crowley’s hands. “I got you an outfit.”

Crowley leaned into him happily. “Yeah?”

“You can tell me if it’s too much,” Aziraphale added, depositing him at the couch and trotting over to the shelves. “I think I may have gotten a little carried away.”

Crowley took a couple of gulps of coffee, abandoning his pastry on the plate. “You? Never!”

“Zero to sarcasm in ten minutes,” Aziraphale observed wryly. “A new record.” He returned with a heavy duty paper bag and held it out. “Feel free to keep what you like and the rest… well, you have the children to provide for.”

“Let me look before you decide I’m throwing it away!” Crowley laughed, groping into the bag.

The first item was a colourful bundle of fabric and once he shook it out, he gave a happy hoot. A big swishy skirt striped in all the colours of the rainbow. “Oh yes!” He scrambled up, wriggling into it at once and twirling on the spot. The skirt billowed around him. “I love it!”

Aziraphale glowed giddily. “There’s more.”

Crowley nodded, eagerly fishing into the bag and dragging out a scoop-necked sky-blue vest. He shook it out, then burst out laughing. In large cartoony letters, there were three words: Man and Wife. Each word was coloured in stripes of yellow, white, purple and black.

“Another kind of flag, I learned,” Aziraphale said, sounding quite pleased with himself as Crowley shed the stolen pyjamas and pulled the vest on, smoothing it down his chest. “I thought it only fitting, since humans seem to like to know where everyone stands.”

Crowley threw himself at his husband. “It’s perfect.” He grinned suddenly. “Can I pick out something for you?”

“Oh, I _suppose_.” Aziraphale squeezed his waist. “What do you have in mind?”

Crowley snapped his fingers and at once, a rainbow coloured tartan bow dangled from his hand. “This.”

Aziraphale spun, lifting Crowley off his feet. “Oh, it’ll be marvellous!” His eyes shone. “And I do so love showing off the old ball and chain.”

“Officially, this time,” Crowley said happily.

“And proud of it.” Aziraphale’s lips twitched.

Crowley just groaned and shoved his hand in the demon’s face.


End file.
